Chapter 11 #2
He had clearly risen in haste, wearing only a loose sleeping shirt, unlaced at the collar.
The fabric hung open just enough to reveal the warm line of his chest, the subtle definition beneath catching the intermittent light from the storm.
She caught a glimpse of skin, of his masculinity, and had to force herself to look away.
She failed. Her eyes found their way back to him again.
Her gaze betrayed her, lingering despite her best efforts, her thoughts momentarily scattered in a way she resented deeply. This was ridiculous. Entirely inappropriate. She fixed her eyes on the far wall at once, schooling her expression into calm.
Rowan, mercifully preoccupied with Daniel, did not seem to notice.
Lucy cleared her throat. “I thought it best to bring him to you,” she said, her voice steady despite herself. “I will leave you both now.”
“Thank you,” Rowan said quietly, his voice still thick with sleep but steady all the same, “for bringing him to me. I am sorry he disturbed you.”
Lucy inclined her head. “Of course. It was no trouble.” She stepped back another pace, already turning toward the door. “I should let you both rest.”
“Please stay,” Daniel said suddenly. He reached out again, fingers curling into the fabric of her robe. “Just for a little while.”
Rowan shook his head at once. “No, Daniel. Lucy must be tired. She should return to her bed.”
Lucy managed a smile. “Your father is right, Daniel,” she said softly. “You are not alone now.”
But Daniel’s lower lip trembled. “I want you to stay,” he insisted. “Please. I want to tell you about the nightmare I had.”
Lucy hesitated. She glanced at Rowan, prepared to object, but something in Daniel’s expression made her pause. After a moment, she sighed quietly. “Very well,” she said. “Just for a little while.”
Rowan said nothing further, only drew Daniel closer, one hand smoothing his hair. “Tell me what frightened you,” he said softly.
Daniel hesitated, then whispered, “I dreamed there was a lady in my room. She was smiling at me. I think… I think she was Mama.”
Rowan went still. “What did she do in your dream?”
“She didn’t say anything,” Daniel continued, his voice small. “She just looked at me. But then the thunder came, and she went away. I wanted to ask her why she left. She left so suddenly. It scared me. It was almost like she disappeared. She didn’t use the door. Was it Mama?”
Rowan swallowed, tightening his hold. “I don’t know, Daniel,” he said. “But if it was, then there is absolutely nothing to be scared of. Your mother loved you. A lot. I am sure she wasn’t there to scare you.”
“But why can I not remember her?” Daniel asked, tears slipping free.
“She left when you were so little,” Rowan answered. “It’s all right that you don’t remember. I can always remind you.”
Lucy sat on the bed before she quite realized she had moved, concentrating all her attention on Daniel, who lay in Rowan’s arms. “Sometimes,” she said softly, “people we love stay with us in other ways. In dreams, in feelings, in the moments when we feel brave even though we are afraid. Perhaps, your mama knew you were scared of the storm and wanted to stay with you.”
Daniel turned his head slightly. “Do you think she knows me?”
“Of course,” Lucy said without hesitation. “How could she not know her own son? A mother never forgets her child.”
“She would be very proud of you,” Rowan said. “You were brave tonight.”
Daniel nodded, then reached out, his fingers finding Lucy’s hand and curling around it. He held on tightly as Rowan embraced him, pressing his face into his father’s side.
Lucy remained seated on the bed, Daniel’s small hand warm in hers. Thunder rolled again outside, but the room felt cozy.
Lucy watched Daniel’s eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of his father’s embrace and the beat of Rowan’s chest lulling him toward sleep. Her hand still rested in his, and as she watched him drift, she felt the instinctive urge to smooth his hair.
But at the same moment, Rowan’s hand moved in the same motion, fingers reaching instinctively for the crown of his son’s head.
Their hands met, fingers brushing, tangling for a brief instant.
Lucy let out a small, nervous gasp and pulled her hand back abruptly, causing Rowan to look up, startled, and their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the glance was loaded. She could tell that he saw the flicker of something in her reaction, something that was not meant for him to read.
However, he said nothing, simply turned back to Daniel, brushing his son’s hair back gently, and she immediately felt a pang of guilt for her own impulsive motion and the reaction it had sparked.
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?
The words hung in the air, tentative yet loaded with tension that neither of them had dared to voice until now.
Daniel had long since succumbed to sleep, his chest rising and falling softly between them.
Rowan had carefully placed him on the bed, but the boy’s small hand still clutched Lucy’s, and she didn’t dare move for fear of waking him.
She remained seated at his side, her fingers resting lightly in his while Rowan positioned himself on the other side.
In the middle, Daniel slept, unaware that he was a tiny barrier between them both.
For a long moment, they simply sat in silence, the faint crackle of the storm outside the window the only sound accompanying the slow rhythm of Daniel’s breathing.
The silence that lingered between them had made it almost impossible to breathe.
It was undeniably awkward, too intimate, too still.
.. but there was a strange comfort in the shared presence.
When Rowan finally spoke, breaking the hush, she felt a pang of relief mixed with nerves. Even if the words were small, even if they carried just a trace of tension, at least the silence had been lifted. Yet, that very relief made her heart pound all the more.
Lucy drew in a breath, her gaze fixed somewhere between the flickering candle he had lit a few minutes ago and the far corner of the room. “I am not angry with you, Your Grace,” she said lightly, almost in protest to the thought that had clearly been lingering. “Why would I be?”
Rowan’s eyes softened. “For the past two days...” he began carefully, “... you’ve been avoiding me.
Ever since the ball. You haven’t come for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
I’m guessing, so you wouldn’t run into me.
You don’t seek me out, and you haven’t asked about Lady Judith or what I’ve been doing.
I can’t help but wonder… perhaps it is because of that conversation at the ball when I questioned your matchmaking ambitions.
Perhaps you’ve been keeping your distance because I suggested it might be guilt, rather than choice, that drives you. ”
Lucy’s cheeks flushed, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. She hadn’t realized he already knew. That he had seen through her avoidance and deduced its cause. For a moment, words failed her.
“I…” she started, then exhaled softly, meeting his steady gaze.
“Yes, I suppose there was a sting when you questioned me. I’m sorry if it seemed unprofessional, but I needed time to think.
Your words struck something in me I didn’t expect.
I had to wonder if I was doing this—being a matchmaker—because I felt too guilty to allow myself to fall in love.
” She paused, her hands tightening slightly in her lap.
“I wasn’t ready to answer that, even to myself. ”
Rowan leaned back just a fraction. “You are very good at it,” he said to her.
“I do not want to take that from you. If this is truly what you wish to do, the talent is yours, and no one can ever take that from you. You have a rare gift, Lucy, and I think you know it. It is yours to wield as you will. It does not matter your motivations. All that matters is what makes you happy.”
Her chest lifted slightly as his words sank in. For the first time in a long time, she felt seen. Like someone who held doubts about her path decided to understand her.
Lucy’s voice softened, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry again for the past few days. For avoiding you like that.”
Rowan shook his head gently, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “You needn’t worry about that,” he said simply, the warmth in his tone settling some of the tension in the room.
A pause followed, the storm outside reduced to a distant murmur. The only sound was the gentle rhythm of Daniel’s breathing as he dozed peacefully between them. Lucy shifted slightly, gathering courage, and then turned toward Rowan.
“May I ask you a question, Your Grace?” she ventured.
“Of course,” he replied immediately, his gaze steady on hers.
She hesitated for a heartbeat before speaking. “Could you tell me about the late duchess?”
Rowan’s brow lifted faintly, a trace of surprise flickering across his features, but he said nothing, allowing her question to linger.
“I understand it is difficult,” she continued quickly. “You needn’t tell me if you would rather not, but I am curious. Even though I think I have found the sort of match you might seek, I would like to understand why you married her. What it was in her that drew you in. What you liked about her.”
Her fingers tightened lightly in Daniel’s small hand without realizing it, a nervous anchor as she waited for him to respond. The room fell into a careful, expectant silence, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the far-off rumble of thunder.
Rowan’s eyes softened as he settled back slightly. For a long moment, he said nothing, gathering the right words, letting the silence in the room stretch before them.